


Wanton

by Nia_Kantorka



Series: Wanton [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Beads, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, BDSM, Conditioning, Dom/sub, Enemas, Humiliation, M/M, Master/Slave, Object Insertion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 15:30:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9908765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nia_Kantorka/pseuds/Nia_Kantorka
Summary: Harry needs something big up his arse now at all times. Just like he's been trained for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Browsing the wonderful kink prompts for one that got my Muse going, somehow I always landed back at my own prompt. Finally I just gave in and adopted it for further use. Well, actually it’s Harry who’s being used and loves it. But he wouldn’t have that much fun without some kind readers who gave me their feedback in advance. A big thank you goes to [Candamira](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Candamira/pseuds/Candamira) and [bleedingangel84](http://bleedingangel84.livejournal.com/) for helping Harry to be as good as possible for his master. Thanks also to our wonderful [Harry Potter Kinkfest](http://hp-kinkfest.livejournal.com/) mods for another round of this delicious fest.

**Wanton**

It started slowly. My training that is. I remember it as if it were yesterday. Just a small, light bead. Inserted for an hour or so. Easy to hold in and forget about while I prepared dinner for two. One bead turned to more. Two became three. Each of them small, not bigger than my master’s thumbnail. All worn longer and longer during the day. 

Then, for a whole night. My master fucked me the next morning; the difference between his considerable endowment and the beads was immense. He upped the game afterwards. The beads became plugs. Every day a different one. I can’t even fathom how much money he spent on them all.

He never showed me the plug beforehand. Only when he decided I had done well that day, he let me take a look at what I had had up my arse at that particular time. After a while, I could guess correctly if it was silicone, glass, metal or acrylic filling me up. The feeling as each plug rubbed and slid along my walls told me enough to imagine its form. They came with many different surfaces, and I loved especially the swirled and smooth ones. The grooved or beaded ones not so much. 

Of course my master picked up my preferences, and I had to wear my least favourites whenever I hadn’t been good, or just to test my resilience and patience. The ones with prostate stimulating parts were the hardest to bear. Not because I disliked them—far from it. They kept me in this highly aroused state which made it difficult to function. If you’ve ever tried to go grocery shopping waddling along uncomfortably with a persistent hard-on that had to be adjusted discreetly every few steps, you know what I mean. 

It became a ritual. First, me using the toilet. Afterwards, my master cleaning my inner walls with an elegant, smooth charm, and then prepping me with silky, fragrant vaseline. He only used concoctions he had mixed or brewed himself. Sometimes he let me watch him preparing them. It was calming to kneel in the lab near his feet on a pad reserved for me, watching him and his skilled, strong fingers. How they cut flowers and herbs with the same dexterity as they used when massaging my rim in the mornings to insert the plug of the day. 

It didn’t take me long to get used to wearing one for a long time. Half a day became twelve hours. Three quarters turned to twenty-four hours straight. Then I managed even longer intervals, only halted by sex, bathroom visits, or both. After I had got accustomed to different shapes, he increased the plug’s sizes. I hadn’t realised how thick they had become until he praised me for taking them so well. Apparently, my arse was able to wear a plug of my master’s girth without much preparation now. He put that knowledge to good use—whenever he fancied a fuck, my arse and I were always ready now. My master just had to pull the plug out and push his cock in. 

The only remaining challenge was his length. On occasion, I still tensed up, especially when he didn't use any lube beyond the lubrication he put on my plug in the mornings. Naturally my master wasn’t fully satisfied yet. He wanted my passage pliant at all times, his to wreck and consume. How well-matched we are, as it is my most intimate wish to serve him with everything I have. Hence, my uncooperative hole had to yield.

Tunnel plugs it was then. Not the ghastly vulgar ones. No, my master is way to classy to use coarse and cheap tools on me, his most precious property. His beloved. He chose a high-quality stainless steel plug, and infused it with a lasting Warming Charm. My master had me naked on all fours with my arse up in the air when he filled my channel with a quarter-gallon of lukewarm water for the first time and plugged me up afterwards. Then he summoned the chair of his study in our bedroom, sat down comfortably, and told me to change the sheets Muggle style. Merlin, of course he did. 

Stripping the bedding was slightly different from my usual tasks as my master’s plaything. I hadn’t done it the Muggle way since I’d escaped my childhood home at my aunt and uncle’s. Against expectation, my master’s command was enough to banish all trepidation. Warm liquid sloshed inside me while I conquered his task. My usually firm, flat belly protruded and became more visible whenever I had to bend over our mattress. Half-lidded eyes followed my every movement, and under his scrutiny, beads of sweat formed on my flushed skin while heat coiled down my spine. 

I was rock-hard by the time I had changed the bedding and ready to soil it again. My master ignored my wants and pursued his own sadistic needs instead. With a gesture, he brought me down on my knees, grabbed my hair in passing, and steered me towards the ensuite bathroom. Such exquisite humiliation being told to clear my bowels, but even more torturous to be left kneeling and empty afterwards. I didn’t want to be without a plug, cock, or anything up my arse anymore. Shuffling after him, I was flushed, sweaty, and agitated by the time we were back at the foot of our bed. 

My master laughed delightedly when he finally deigned to notice my state. The bloody wanker. Yet I loved it when he patted my messy mop, grabbing soaked strands to haul me up over the edge of the mattress. It only took him a few more seconds to coat his prick with conjured lube and fill me up again. 

Oh, the divine pleasure. He knows my wants better than anybody, better than I do myself. Him being in charge of me, us, everything—was just perfect. When he ruthlessly took pleasure, he increased mine a hundredfold. Our friends didn’t understand how I could be so masochistic, beatific at the mercy of a sadist. I was. I loved and craved it. They accepted our relationship with time. Guess us both radiating happiness in the other’s presence is evidence enough.

He fucked me hard and fast until his climax brought all rhythm to a halt. I was close too, and he graciously engulfed my prick with his strong fingers, unrelentingly pushing me towards the edge. As soon as his growled permission reached my muddled brain, white-hot bliss crashed over me. 

“Now that we’ve trained your arse so splendidly, my darling boy, we will do something about your gag reflex, won’t we?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment here or on [livejournal](http://hp-kinkfest.livejournal.com/191445.html).


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